Page 47 of Second Chance Daddy
My heart’s racing like I’ve got minutes left to live, and this? This is the only way I’m spending them. Watching her, wrecking her, reminding both of us who the hell she belongs to.
I run my hands up her sides, over her ribs, and cup her breasts in my palms. They fit perfectly, like they were meant to fit. I brush my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, watching her squirm.
“Beautiful. Fucking perfect.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt, tugging, frantic now, like she’s seconds from losing her mind if I don’t get my act together.
“Off,” she commands. Her hands are on me before I can speak—shoving at my shirt, yanking it up over my head, nails dragging down my ribs.
She’s breathless, flushed, grabbing at my belt, my jeans, frantic like we’ll combust if there’s space between us.
Clothes scatter across the counter, her legs wrap around my waist, and I grip her thighs, heart pounding like a war drum. No patience. No slowing down.
I step between her legs again and line myself up with her entrance. Her eyes flicker to my cock, and she bites her lower lip with a nasty, dirty little smile. “Fuck,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine.
She’s soaking wet, still pulsing from her orgasm, and when I push just the head of my cock inside, we both groan.
Her body clenches around me the second I push inside, tight, hot, still fluttering from that orgasm I just wrung out of her with my mouth. Her head falls back as she lets out a little breathless moan.
“Fuck, Cass,” I rasp, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “You make me forget my own damn name.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Your name isn’t what I need right now.” She groans as she clenches her pussy around my cock.
“Fuck, you little tease,” I growl as her legs lock around my waist, pulling me deeper like she’s starved for this—starved for me.
I roll my hips slowly, savoring the stretch, the slick heat wrapping around me, every nerve ending firing off like gunshots under my skin.
“You’ve been lying,” I grit out, thrusting deeper, watching her eyes go wide, her back arching off the counter. “Telling everyone you’re fine… pretending you don’t think about this… about me.”
Her breath catches, nails biting into my skin, hips shifting, chasing every inch I give her like she can’t stand the space between us.
I slam in harder this time, the counter jolting beneath us, and her gasp rips through the room like we’re filming a fucking porno.
“Say it,” I growl, my voice sharp, filthy, and possessive. “Say you still want me.”
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling, her lip caught between her teeth, but it’s her hips that answer first, rolling up to meet every brutal snap of mine.
“Dante…” My name’s a wrecked whisper, soaked in need.
I drag my hand up her ribs, over those perfect, flushed breasts, my thumb brushing the peak of one tight nipple as I thrust again—harder, rougher, until the only sounds filling the kitchen are skin meeting skin and those pretty little gasps spilling from her mouth.
“You were mine, always,” I snarl, my hand fisting in her hair, tilting her face to mine. “And now? You’re sure as hell not walking away from me again.”
Her body tightens, pulsing around me, the heat of her pulling me under, unraveling what little control I’ve got left.
I slam her down on her back, both hands gripping her thighs wide, pinning her there, and I drive into her, every thrust rougher, deeper, until her body’s jolting with every movement,the marble beneath us trembling like the whole damn house might come apart.
She’s gasping, wrecked, trembling under my hands, her body arching, chasing the high I’m dragging her toward, and I’m not stopping—not until I’ve burned every memory of every other man from her skin.
“Mine,” I grit out, my voice low and ragged, as her walls clench around me, pulling me deeper, tighter.
Her body arches under me, wild and wrecked, those gorgeous curves rolling up to meet every brutal thrust like she’s chasing the end of the world—and hell, I’m giving it to her.
Her breasts bounce with every slam of my hips, flushed and perfect, soft peaks begging for my hands. I lean down, mouth closing over one, biting just enough to make her moan that filthy, broken sound that wrecks my last thread of control.
“Look at you,” I rasp, dragging my hand up her ribs, gripping her hip, holding her down when she tries to lurch off the counter from how deep I’m driving into her. “Fucking falling apart for me.”
The marble shudders beneath us, the whole counter rattling like the damn house might give out—but I don’t stop.
